My eyes widen. “You’re kidding?” Why wasn’t his team watching his back? The quarterback was the most vulnerable player on the field. One wrong hit and he could be seriously injured.
“Nope. Price’s shoulder is fucked up, right?” Wait, it is? What happened to his shoulder? “So all he’s doing in practice is throwing. Him and Valdez run drills while Deacon starts on the field. Five plays in on day one and it dawns on Deacon that protection is bad and it’s staying bad. He starts to scramble when he gets the ball. Man doesn’t want to get hit.”
Deacon is rigid, every muscle in his face drawn tight. He doesn’t like hearing this.
“This shit goes on for three days,” Reed says, waving three fingers in the air. “And then out of nowhere, Price takes to the field, smacks our boy here upside the head, and tells him, ‘You’re fast. Play faster. Trust your feet.’It was solid advice but Deacon isn’t having it. He’s pissed.”
“Can you blame me?” Deacon snaps.
Reed lifts both hands in the air. “Nope. I’d be an asshole, too. Maybe not to the dude’s face like that, but,” he shrugs. “Anyway, Hunt is mouthing off. He tells Price he’s playing dirty, fucking with his protection, and damn, you should have seen the look on Price’s face. He told Deacon if he wanted protection, give them someone worth protecting. And if he doesn’t like getting hit, then go play fucking tennis.”
I wince. Dominique’s never been one to mince words. “That was harsh.”
“But, effective,” Reed smirks.
I turn to Deacon, who’s still glaring, but when he sees me looking he nods. “It did the job,” he sighs. “Got my head out of my ass and back in the game.”
“And made you a damn better quarterback. Deacon learned in three days what takes most quarterbacks years to figure out, and he’s not buckling under the pressure. He’s playing smart.”
“Has Dom backed off? Is your defensive line helping you out, now?”
Deacon snorts. “No. I’m still on Prices’s shit list. But now,” he shrugs, “I do my part to not get hit.”
“So, he’s still getting hit a lot.” Reed supplies and Deacon shoots him another glare. “Hey, don’t get pissy with me, my friend. You’re just mad because that asshole made you a better player and you don’t like it.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Deacon finishes his beer and stands. “I need another drink. You?”
“Uh, sure.” He nods and I watch as he heads over to the coolers the girls placed near the pool. Once he’s out of earshot, I turn back to Reed and ask, “What’s he going to do? Getting sacked in practice is one thing, but he can’t be left defenseless in a game. He’ll end up seriously hurt.”
Reed gives me a sobering look. “I think he’s hoping you can help him out with that.”
Me? What the hell was I supposed to do?
Chapter Twelve
Aaron’s riding the line again. He isn’t sleeping and jumping at loud sounds. I know what’s coming and I’m trying to head it off, but the asshole standing in front of me isn’t making that easy.
“Bro, we had a deal?”
Aaron throws on his leather jacket and swipes his keys off the table, heading for the front door.
“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he assures me, but we both know that’s a lie.
“You heard what the doc—”
His jaw clenches. “I’m going to live my life. Okay? Can you get on board with that, man?”
I grind my teeth together. This is a bad idea and he knows it, but I can see by the look in his eyes I don’t have a shot in hell of talking him out of it. I never do. Not when he gets like this.
Henderson is a walking, talking stick of dynamite just waiting to explode. When we were kids, he was always a self-destructive shit, but adult Aaron is on a whole ‘nother level. We’ve all got baggage, but the shit Aaron needs to unpack is traumatic as fuck, and I only know the half of it. But we made a deal. I’m not about to let him weasel out of it.
“When you stop being a lying sack of shit, maybe.” I shrug and wait to see how he responds. It can go one of two ways. Brotherhood will get the better of him and he’ll back down. Nine and a half times out of ten, he’s true to his word and he hates being called a liar. Addicts are liars and Aaron refuses to be one of them.
I see the flicker in his eyes. The moment of hesitation at my words and then…fuck.There’s that other half. The times when he decides not to give a fuck because he’s too far up his own ass to think straight.
“Aaron—”
“You know me,” he says, and there’s a plea in his voice, so I nod. “You know I’ve been clean. For two years I’ve stayed clean. No missteps. I’ve stayed on the fucking wagon, man.”
